Poems from the Past

I used to write poems. Some were dark and angry, most went unfinished, and almost all were flat-out awful. But the ones I did finish and deemed decent enough to be recorded more permanently, I carefully printed in a journal that my elementary school principal gave me for my eighth grade graduation.

In it, I have poems starting from 2001 up until 2004, my junior year of high school.

Most of them are really just bad. They’re basic, shallow, simple poems. I needed them at the time, but now that I don’t they just seem ridiculous.

However two of them stand out to me.

The first is called “Dad”. Clever, I know. It was my father’s day present to my daddy one year within those aforementioned years. This one in particular is not dated, so I’m not sure which one, but please bear in mind that I was between the ages of fourteen and seventeen. A baby, really.

Anyway, this one I love not because of the content. It’s actually extremely lame. No, this one I love because of how much my dad loved and still loves it. He has it hanging up in his office at work, which is not even the same place he worked when I wrote it. It didn’t matter that it was cheesy. It was something I made just for him because I loved him. He loved it because he loves me.

Dad

My young eyes looked up at you,
“My hero” I would say.
You were always there for me
Whenever skies were gray.

Now I look at you and see
A man without a flaw,
Someone who is proud of me,
The man I always saw.

I am growing older now,
And don’t act like I should
I’d give the whole world to you
If, in some way, I could

You’ll always be my hero, Dad,
No matter what I say.
You’ll always be my hero,
Until my dying day.

I mean, can you say extra mozzarella? I remember at the time being frustrated that I couldn’t express myself as well as I wanted to. But seeing how much he appreciated it made it all okay.

This next poem is one I actually like a lot. It’s also boring and simple, but it was the first time I played with metaphor and other literary techniques in my writing. I wasn’t just writing feelings into rhythmic patterns. I was exploring new ways of expressing them.

This one is called “My Daisies” and I wrote it in English class one day. I don’t remember what we were talking about or reading, but I came across a quote that said simply, “Daisies won’t tell.” by Anita Owen. As far as I remember, it wasn’t part of any other larger work, probably just part of a longer quote. I’m not sure. All I remember is that I started jotting this poem down in my English notebook right away, only tooling it later when I got home. If it were up to me, I’d make some changes to it now, five years later. But it’s almost perfect with its flaws. Reminds me of where I started as far as writing in a non-journal form. Reminds me of how far I’ve come.

My Daisies

“Everything will be okay,” to Dad, and Mom as well.
“I”m scared,” to the daisies. ‘Cause daisies,
they won’t tell.

“I am fine,” about the time that, out of fear, I fell.
“It hurts so much,” I tell the flow’rs. ‘Cause daisies,
they won’t tell.

“I wish I had a new car,” to Auntie at the well.
“I wish for love,” in my green field. ‘Cause daisies,
they won’t tell.

“I had a good day today,” is the line I sell.
The daisies hear, “I’m feeling blue.” ‘Cause daisies,
they can tell.

Mostly, the only part I think I would seriously consider changing is that part about the well. I don’t think I’ve ever been to a functional well in my life, let alone with my aunt. Plus, I think the rhythm is a little off. I feel like it’s noteworthy to say that in my notebook, it’s formatted in a rather aesthetically pleasing way. The second line of every stanza is slightly indented, and the third line in each stanza is all the way to the left, just those three simple words. I tried to replicate it here, but it’s a formatting nightmare within the contents of this blog, so I gave up. I think it has a similar feel to it.

Sometimes my poems are painful to re-read, but these ones are less so. I feel confident sharing them because I honestly don’t know that I could do much better. I’m not a poet and I have never claimed to be. Sometimes, though, it’s fun to see your failures. Your inspired attempts. These poems might not have the emotional affect on others I had been intending when I wrote them, but they evoke the emotions and thoughts I was experiencing at the time. So they might not be something great for everyone to read, but I’m really glad I have held on to them all these years. For me.

5 Responses to “Poems from the Past”

I don’t know if you sent me “My Daisies” before, or if you had posted it in your LJ before, but I remember reading this poem a long time ago, and to be honest, I sometimes recall it in the dark recesses of my memory, and I could have SWORN that it was some famous poem by some famous poet in my English book or something. But of course, it is you and your incredible talent. You are amazing. I think I wanna pull a Mr. Listo and print that poem and frame it.

Okay I know this post is super old but I just came across it and I’ve got to say, I completely agree with the above post that the daisy poem is spectacular. It’s so professional-sounding! I agree with you about the rhythm being just a little off, but other than that it’s absolutely wonderful. It’s haunting, in the most beautiful way. Great job!!

I’m glad! I must confess that I used the random post button because I love everything I’ve read so far on your blog and wanted more 🙂 And this is definitely a favorite. Also, your Remember December post. I love your parents. 🙂